


The Office

by jarofclay



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Brothers!MayuKuro, Interactions with voiceless narrator, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofclay/pseuds/jarofclay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT CRAZY THINGS HAPPEN EVERY DAY IN AN OFFICE OF TEIKO CO. IN TOKYO, JAPAN. CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT!</p><p>[ All narrated events have taken place a year ago. This article has been published with the consent of all the depicted people. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Office

**Author's Note:**

> **Pilot: Akashi Seijuurou**

\---

Kojimachi Area, Chiyoda. A rectangular, pristine white building rises anonymously inside one of the small business parks of the crowded district. Nothing different from all the other commercial buildings in its vicinity—except maybe a bit more rectangular, a tad bit whiter, and with fixtures of a pleasant hue of baby blue framing the windows. A large sign set up at the entrance of the parking lot lists the presence of the various business activities taking place inside. In bold baby blue letters, the name ‘Teiko Company’ stands out the most. A familiar subsidiary name to many people, inside as much as outside of Japan; but not as famous as the holding company that owns it: the multinational corporation of Akashi Inc.

“Teiko Co. is a pretty recent company, selling paper products mainly aimed at prestigious hotel groups,” Akashi Seijuurou explains in a velvety, unwavering voice that has been recently voted ‘Second Sexiest Voice of Teiko Business Park’. “Our employees work adamantly to gain clients, offering our products with the guarantee of the best quality and delivery times.”

Akashi sits in the office of the Regional Manager, but a year ago he was promoted to Vice-president of Teiko’s northeastern sales, with the agreement to keep running the sales department as well. From the perfectly ironed white collar and tailored suit to the self-reliant attitude and fluent formality, he is the image of rising success and professional management.

Elbows propped on the armrests and fingers laced together, he looks over from behind his organized desk. Well angled position of the computer, neat placement of the pens in one holder, and paper knife and scissors in another. Not too zealous, though. No chromatic divisions, and the few pens and pencils lying beside the strewn documents are left there once Akashi’s attention is diverted from the work at hand. Some odd decorations fill the voids, instead: a golden horse-shaped trophy, a paper crane set on a pile of books, and a mug with a printed sentence. ‘ _Doesn’t know defeat (on most days)_ ’.

A beep from the telephone breaks Akashi’s elegant pose.

“Yes,” he calls after pressing the button.

“There’s the whiny guy from the loser branch on line 1,” a voice states lifelessly, on which Akashi doesn’t ask for clarifications.

“Tell him I’ll call back in ten minutes,” he says instead, before reclining on his back rest again.

Orderly but not obsessive, functional and not too finicky; for somebody who, among his opponents, has the reputation of accepting only absolute perfection, Akashi Seijuurou seems to highly disregard most things that have no influence on final results.

“Ours is one of the seven branches of the Teiko Co., and the most efficient in every aspect. Our sales and income have been methodically surpassing by far those of the others for years now. That is because I have the best employees, and it’s my job’s duty to crush all opponents, friends or foe.”

Akashi’s smile is thin and lasts only for a moment, but the amusement towards his own words is still clear and genuine.

“I’m joking, of course. It’s counterproductive to wage internecine wars,” he says diplomatically. “On that regard, though. We do make sure to light some… healthy competitiveness among us, in order to truly give to the company the best results.”

By the documents he shows—filled with numbers that are barely understandable except for the few, clear lines marking the yearly revenue of the different branches—Akashi is only telling the harsh truth.

“As I said, our products are sold mostly to wholesalers, to hotels, restaurants and other high class places. As a company with subsidiaries, we range from tissues, kitchen or hygiene products. But Teiko Co. produces and sells our most prized commodity: toilet paper.”

Which comes as a bit of a surprise: heir of a family owning a multinational and on his way to control a commercial empire, Akashi Seijuurou does happen to have built his career over toilet paper.

His voice and expression are nothing less than utterly confident as he offers a taste of the quality of the boxed tissues on his desk, and says, “We make _excellent_ toilet paper.” 

\---

Outside Akashi’s office, the reception desk is curiously empty, but the rest of the environment is immersed in its thickest working hour. Divided in sections and cubicles, the employees work in their private space for better concentration. Light phone conversations rise from the salesmen’s zone. A bit further towards the other end of the room, a carefree laughter erupts, never stopping to talk about quality.

“You may think Akashi is where he is today because of his family,” Midorima Shintarou, head of accounting, murmurs, reproachful from the get-go. “…Well, clearly that paved the way, but Akashi _is_ the best at his job. Otherwise I wouldn’t work here.” Midorima coughs into his fist, clearing his throat to obviously prepare for a personal confession. “I would refuse to work for a mediocre and unprofessional boss who earned their place only by name and—”

A crumpling noise interrupts him, and Midorima’s face instantly morphs into a disapproving scowl as he tries to glare the newly unwrapped snack out of his coworker’s hand. Perhaps understandable, if considering the cemetery of wrappings lying on the adjacent desk and close to trespassing Midorima’s personal workspace.

“Aka-chin is cool,” Murasakibara Atsushi drawls, deciding to interpret Midorima’s pause as his cue to concede an opinion. Those three words, though, seem to have tired him out already. “And anything from Akashi Inc. is great. Seirin tissues are like wiping your nose with cotton candy… They make me wish I had a cold all the time.” The rest of the snack disappears fully in his mouth, munching sounds lulling the silence. “Maybe that’s why there has been a decrease in flu vaccine sales.”

Midorima huffs heavily and asks, “How many have you eaten?”

Murasakibara glances down to his own desk. “Just nine.”

“It’s 10AM!”

“Then I’ll eat one more to keep up with the hours,” Murasakibara finishes, rebellious, and as Midorima glances over meaningfully, any other exchange is buried under Momoi Satsuki’s soft sigh and change of topic. Smiling excitedly, she launches herself in a monologue on datas and numbers and the magic with which they all fall perfectly together at the end of every month and how smoothly everything runs in the office, under Akashi’s vigilance.

“In terms of actual work,” Momoi strangely feels the need to specify, while throwing a glance at a broken window, temporarily fixed with adhesive tape. No explanations are offered.

In a similar fashion, the conversation in the kitchenette with the salesmen easily derails again from Akashi Seijuurou to toilet paper.

“Akashi is weird,” Aomine Daiki says picking at his ear lazily as he waits for his cup of coffee of the late morning, “But no wonder his family is so rich, with the toilet paper they sell.”

He is full of opinions on the products of Teiko Co. According to his comparison, that sounds half-hearted but obviously hides a deep appreciation, Teiko’s toilet paper is akin to the boobs of a fairy softly massaging your ass. In Kiyoshi Teppei’s happy-go-lucky words, it is the closest thing to the feeling of touching a unicorn mane you can get from paper.

(“Four days ago he babysat my kid. They watched a movie about unicorns,” Aida Riko, Special Projects Manager, whispers later in the corner of her cubicle. “I’m not saying it brainwashed him, but I _will_ say that Teppei loves kids too much for his own good.”)

They all sound like over-the-line comparisons, until one cares to ask for the client complaint cards to Sakurai Ryou from customer service, and read of all the people who have repeatedly asked for a guarantee that the product was _not_ secretly made out of silk, or with substances causing dependency.

After a flashy presentation of his own name and job, Kise Ryouta spends instead a minute complaining about employee mistreatment. “Kurokocchi always slaps my hand away when I _happen_ to reach out to one of his tissues in a time of need!” he cries.

“Because your time of need is fake and pointless,” Aomine says. “Just like you.”

“Ahh…” Kiyoshi echoes softly, like soothing background music.

Scarily enough, two minutes and a duel of insults later, Kise sounds like another person, oddly professional as he talks seriously about Akashi with his chamomile in hand. “Akashicchi is the only one I know who could fearlessly surf on the success of a toilet paper business. I feel like he could be selling edgy sex toys, and no one would dare make one joke about it. He’s considered a young star in the business world.”

Izuki Shun snaps his head swiftly at those words, a victorious glint in his raven irises. “You could say, he’s the _etoile_ -t of the paper business!”

While Kise shudders and suffocates a dying noise inside his mug, Kiyoshi knowingly attempts a pained, apologetic smile.

“This is why you blew the contract with Hotel Toyomi,” Aida Riko says, slapping the back of Izuki’s head with a roll of valuable documents.

In all this, Aomine remains oddly unfazed, picking up a car magazine as he drinks his coffee with a bored expression.

“Aomine-san is immune to terrible puns,” Sakurai explains out of the kitchenette, glancing at the coworker through the door window with admiration, “He is very strong…”

“I _think_ that was Italian,” Aomine tries to guess later, but doesn’t even wait for a confirmation.

\---

At 12AM, Akashi walks out of his office and quickly covers the aisle between cubicles to enter one and leave some papers on the desk of the Purchaser/Supplier Relations representative.

“Mibuchi, these are the documents for the Raiju order. It needs to be taken care of by today.”

“Of course, Sei-chan,” Mibuchi Reo replies seriously, taking up the files right away and scanning them as Akashi moves over the opposite cubicle and disappears inside it with a just as concise and to-the-point, “Kuroko, I have an errand for you.”

Mibuchi’s amiable answer almost drowns the softest ‘yes’ that comes in response. “Yes, Sei-chan is a great boss. Very intense. I’ve known him since college and, I can grant you, he’s got _all_ kinds of skills, plus some you didn’t even know existed.”

Managing a business is as easy as breathing for him, continues Mibuchi, for whom Akashi’s only flaw might be found in his ‘warped view on what constitutes as romance’, which isn’t strictly related to the office’s activities, but Mibuchi seems to mind the issue a lot. He lets out the weary sigh of a man who has witnessed the decline of a rosier age, but on Teiko products, he discloses to be as passionate as all the others, and as ready to weep for the prices.

“We get two free rolls in our New Year's basket, though I do wish they gave us more. But at least I’m not as desperate as Kuroko. He _loves_ the company’s products.” There’s no way Mibuchi could stress the word ‘love’ more than that. “But since it’s costly and an unnecessary luxury, he used to buy some once every blue moon, which always pained him to no end. I’m pretty sure he stole it once or twice from the office’s bathroom. If he wasn’t such a good person, he would have probably robbed the warehouse.”

The documents brought by Akashi have been forgotten for now, a spark of amusement shining in Mibuchi’s eyes as he fondly reminisces. “Which I think is part of the reason why, last Christmas, Sei-chan’s present to him was a _very_ big supply of company products. A full set. I’ve never seen Kuroko so visibly moved. He looked so grateful that I kind of expected him to drop to his knees and—”

Akashi passes by again and Mibuchi waits for a second, following his boss’ back with a pensive gaze before falling back into his chatter. “In hindsight, I should have realized that as the first alarm to Sei-chan’s feelings,” he muses. “I mean, what is a person trying to convey by gifting great toilet paper, if not a deep investment in their assets? If you know what I mean.”

A dull thud marks Mibuchi’s mischievous wink, as a colorful juggling ball rolls into view on the floor, and a black haired person advances clumsily on his rolling chair towards it to pick it up, and then roll back into their own cubicle.

That is Takao Kazunari, Quality Assurance representative; a very bubbly worker, whose boisterous laughter has resonated in the office at least ten times in one morning, seemingly avoiding his job in favor of attempting to juggle three balls while sitting in his chair.

“Ah yes, Akashi and Kuroko.” Takao hums with a knowing smile. “You sure learn fast about all the hot topics in here!”

There’s movement in the office as lunch break approaches, but Takao’s concentration stays focused on the balls. Out of his cubicle, the other employees start flowing at different rhythms towards the break room.

“Are you coming?” Midorima asks primly as he passes by, holding a tanuki statue in the crook of his arm and a lacquered black bento in one hand. When he is answered with a distracted “That’s what she said,” Midorima promptly strides off, and as if a button had been switched, Takao grabs all the flying balls, puts them down, and instead takes out of his drawer a stack of pink, rectangular cards. 

“To be honest I have no idea what those two are doing, but the catch is, I’m not sure they know either? Did somebody tell you about the origami thing already?” Takao says as he reaches the now empty cubicle of the accounting section. “I do believe Akashi has the hots for Kuroko, as weird as that sounds. And Kuroko… well, no one knows what Kuroko thinks.” His hands dive into the bag lying defenseless under Midorima’s desk, and fish out a pair of keys. Picking out the first card of the slim stack, he raises it, bringing into view a round, thick handwriting that must belong to Takao himself.

“Today, Oha-Asa suggests Cancers to throw themselves into an adventure. I can't trust Shin-chan on that, so for his well-being I'll have to take this matter into my own hands, as usual,” Takao explains while sticking the card inside the pocket where the keys used to be.

“Anyway, my guess is that they’re involved in what I call a ‘parkour romance’,” Takao goes on in a practical tone. “Trying to get to Point A to Point B in the most amazingly roundabout and unnecessary way they can, where Point A stands for being single, and Point B… hopefully stands for marriage, and not death by age.”

One more card is filed between the supplies in the office’s shelves, another one gets stuck under the bathroom soap with tape. Then Takao jogs out of the office and takes the stairs, goes all the way to the warehouse where he waves at the workers, exchanges a few pleasantries with them and leaves one card there as well before going out.

 _‘Look into yourself and find out who you truly are’_ is written on the second-to-last card that has been attached to the side of a garbage bin.

“If he listens to me, this should actually be the easiest one to solve,” Takao beams happily as he makes a run for the corner and enters the parking lot, beside which a patch of well-cured grass hosts a stiff, straight tree, with small wrinkles and nooks opening all over its thick trunk. With a bit of heavy breath, Takao leaves the keys in one of the tree’s dark crannies along with the last folded card, careful not to leave the corners out. It’s with an accomplished grin that Takao finally raises his thumbs victoriously, and takes his sweet time to head back to the office.

\---

In the warehouse, Akashi steps down the stairs with every worker’s eyes flickering instinctively to him as if trumpets had gone off when he passed the threshold.

“Please continue, I’ll be just showing around,” he informs Miyaji Kiyoshi, the warehouse foreman, who grumbles a reluctant permission, probably only because he can’t actually stop his boss.

(“It’s because they’re afraid of us causing damage,” Momoi explains in the later hours of the afternoon, still eyeing the broken window apprehensively. “I can’t blame them, really. Last time Kise almost cut his hand off with the baler.”)

“Not here for a match, Akashi?” a slim blonde guy calls loudly, bouncing closer like an overexcited ceetah: Hayama Koutarou, nodding invitingly at the single movable basketball hoop standing against the wall. It towers over a clear space in the front of the warehouse, wide enough to function as a makeshift court.

“I’m quite busy today,” Akashi replies, even though his eyes are fixed on the basketball lying unused on the floor, as if staring at it hard enough might compel it to roll right into his hands. “But we should be able to arrange something for the next days.”

The crew soon goes back to work, checking papers and moving boxes around, while Akashi breaks the stocking and delivery process down for easy understanding.

“An efficient organization is at the base of a successful activity, after all,” Akashi comments matter-of-factly after going over some typologies of ware, their characteristics and prices—and with those prices it is no wonder that somebody would think of it as a special Christmas present.

One of Akashi’s thin red eyebrows is cocked up in mild surprise. “Words certainly go around fast.”

A heavy box is dropped on the floor somewhere in the warehouse, accompanied by a chorus of shouts and insults, but Akashi’s red gaze remains unaffected and contemplative.

“I can show what I gave Kuroko as quite the example,” he says nodding to himself, and walks to the far corner of the warehouse. Analyzing a row of boxes, he shifts one on a low shelf a bit closer, and with a single smooth motion and surgical precision, he takes out a letter opener from his pocket to swiftly stab the crack held by adhesive tape.

A sample of Teiko toilet paper is taken out. Elegant, golden tinged letters grace the middle section of each piece, and when Akashi starts to unroll it, it is like watching a drape of embroidered silk unfolding from his hands.

“ _’Were it not for shadows, there would be no beauty’_ , Jun’ichirou Tanizaki,” Akashi reads aloud before passing it over, with a pleased half-lidded look. “One famous book quote on each square. This is Kuroko's favourite. As you will discover, he’s an avid book reader and, like me, finds that there’s never a moment unfit for learning something new.”

After showing a few more samples, each one made to look like it rolled right down from the heavens, Akashi puts everything away and goes back to the front, where another red-haired guy—taller and a lot bulkier—takes up the basketball and throws it successfully in the hoop with lax, carefree movements.

“That is Kagami Taiga,” Akashi says passing by, “one of our employees. A good worker, and a dear friend of Kuroko. But I’m afraid he won’t be staying with us for much longer.”

Having known Akashi Seijuurou for only one day has done nothing to ease the task of discerning between factual statements and threats, and there’s only the hope of assuming that this is just his normal way of speaking.

“Yeah, I might get accepted into a professional basketball team,” Kagami thankfully confirms with a proud grin once Akashi has gone back to the upper floors, “Planning to climb all the way to the best Japanese team from there.”

Even if at first impression he seems tough and exaggeratedly hot-headed, after a light conversation Kagami Taiga actually appears to be a pretty chill guy. He also has no opinion on Teiko’s toilet paper other than, “I don’t get the point of making such a fancy paper when you just gotta wipe your ass with it, but okay.”

“NO!! TEIKOU’S TOILET PAPE(R) IS SO GOOD IT MAKES ME ANG(R)Y,” an angry-looking guy vocally and physically barges into the conversation. Hayakawa Mitsuhiro, his name tag says. “HOW’S IT SO SOFT?? WHAT DO THEY USE TO MAKE IT? THIS IS ONE OF THOSE BIG WO(R)LD MYSTE(R)IES, LIKE COKE’S SECRET ING(R)EDIENT, AND WHY TOMATOES A(R)E F(R)UIT.”

As Hayama stops by as well, he is a little perplexed, “Tomatoes are fruit?”

“None of those are actual mysteries,” comments Koganei Shinji, a man who unapologetically looks like a cat.

“You do know the materials are written on the package, right?” Miyaji says.

In the meanwhile, Kagami has sat down on a trunk with his meal for the day. Being a close friend of Kuroko’s, he might hold the answer to some very relevant questions.

“What about them?” he asks puzzled as he unwraps a sandwich—which looks roughly as long as one of Kagami’s arms, and without a doubt just as thick. “Kuroko is fine, but I’m not that close with Akashi.” Balling the wrapping, he stops just to frown pointedly, “Doesn’t really help that he calls me ‘Kagami Taiga’ most of the time. I mean, not just my surname. The _whole_ name. It’s like he’s declaring war to me every time we meet.”

“That’s not true!” Hayama laughs, wheezing like a hyena as he shuffles closer with his own lunch.

“Whatever,” Kagami says, not bothering to fight back, “I don’t care as long as he pays me.”

Koganei contemplates, mesmerized, Kagami’s impressive gobbling techniques, before distracting himself with, “I thought that if anything, there was something between Kuroko and Aomine?”

The muscles of Kagami’s face convulse as if he’s ingested lethal poison along with the last bite of bread and pork. “Oh god no. That would be even worse.”

Caught in his meal as much as Kagami, Hayama gives his own two cents only because prompted by various questioning looks. “Don’t look at me. Liking Akashi doesn’t mean I get him at all. That’s Reo-nee’s job.”

Koganei doesn’t give up on nagging, “Didn’t Kuroko tell you anything?”

“We don’t talk about this kind of stuff,” Kagami grumbles, shaking his head, trying to chase away the mere image of talking about feelings with his friends. “And he’s hermetically sealed or something, anyway…”

“Mitobe talks to me about anything,” Koganei shrugs.

At that, even Hayama takes a pause in munching his food to look over in amazed bewilderment.

(“WHAT,” Kagami rages in shock privately, with Hayama behind him snorting a laughter out of his nose. “Talking is literally the ONE THING Mitobe doesn’t do!”)

\---

At last, Kuroko Tetsuya is spotted and cornered while working in his cubicle. Folders and documents are stacked on the desk in what might appear like a mess at first glance, but it’s actually an organized one. A full box of the much praised Seirin tissues is surrounded by a small and curious army of origami; over them, a notice board hosts an even wider arrangement of papers—along with some sparse, colorful pictures. Of friends, of dogs. The Human Resources representative sits in his swiveling chair with a blank stare and a pen rotating slowly between his fingers.

Outside, the birds are chirping.

“I’m not very good at keeping up conversations,” Kuroko finally speaks. The pen taps lightly on the surface as he looks over, apparently waiting for more prompts. “There’s nothing much to say about my job. I deal with staffing and planning, recruiting, employee relations…” Kuroko’s pen stops mid-rotation, going still like the suddenly hesitant worker. “And I do some errands for Akashi-kun. Occasionally with Mayuzumi-san’s help.”

Not only is Kuroko in the spotlight of a fascinating parkour romance that still needs to be explored, but he’s also the unexpected source of intel on shady office secrets.

“Please don’t put it like that,” Kuroko requests.

“Kuroko—ah, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Akashi hasn’t even entered the cubicle with both feet when Kuroko readily takes up one of the slim folders on the desk and offers it to his boss, who quickly peeks inside it with an approving nod.

“In exchange,” Akashi says cryptically. But the question is answered when he produces an origami figure out of nowhere, placing it in Kuroko’s open hands. It’s a paper frog of gracious beauty, its folds sharp and precise to even give the animal a scowling expression.

Kuroko’s thanks sound surprisingly emotionless—although, admittedly, something goes lax in his features, and the way the origami is delicately tucked in line with its relatives is anything but a flat reaction to it.

Silence just cannot last as long after Akashi’s gone.

“Ah, this is just a… thing, that Akashi-kun and I have been doing for a rather long time now.” Kuroko’s index finger distractedly corrects the frog’s position, so that now it faces Kuroko’s wide gaze head-on. “If I’m not wrong, this should be the 934th origami he’s given me.”

The mysteries inside the office only increase in number as the hours pass by, but one is finally about to be unveiled. There can only be an incredible and heartwarming story justifying these more-than-odd circumstances.

“There isn’t,” Kuroko shrugs lightly.

The explanation behind it does come out to be uneventfully simple indeed, at least on the surface. New to the job and trying to make small chat with his new boss of three months, Kuroko once expressed his appreciation for origami to Akashi. And Akashi—who, according to a very serious Kuroko, might have superpowers—had swiftly folded a paper close by into the shape of a crane, and gifted it to him with the offer to teach him the how’s. Before they knew it, it had turned into a ritual, dotted by simple and short origami lessons during lunch breaks or calm hours. Every work day, Akashi would give Kuroko a new one to add to his collection.

A cute story, all in all, until calculations make it clear that the ritual must have been going on for more or less three years. Considering all the available information, it would be natural to assume that there might be a deeper, sweeter meaning behind such a constant gesture of affection and dedication.

“It means nothing,” Kuroko once again shoots down with immaculate ruthlessness. But as he gazes quietly at his bunch of pretty, elegant presents, there seems to be something left untold on the matter…

 

(“Not really,” Kuroko pipes up, so no more free assumptions will be made.)

\---

“Did he say that?” Akashi inquires as the elevator doors slide open with a melodic jingle. He strides in, jacket hanging off one arm and briefcase by the other, and turns around, staring bemusedly at the artificial lights with the hint of an eerie smile. “Then I suppose it means nothing.”

The descent is quick, and Akashi flings the jacket over his shoulders like a cape and walks into the parking lot. It’s only 4PM, an hour before closing time, but Akashi has an important business meeting with a client at a restaurant in Shibuya.

“It often happens that I have to leave earlier, to discuss transactions or new projects in person. In those instances, Midorima or Aida get appointed as my seconds.” Akashi smiles, and it is hard to put a name to the aftertaste that leaves. “However, that is mostly a formality. I do have the best employees, and I trust them to do their job well and on time even without close supervision. During your stay here, you will find that I demand everyone to uphold one single policy, which is that little matters beside results and maintaining a professional image outside the workplace. So I have no qualms with keeping a loose leash, as long as they know their place. After all, plenty of studies prove that a too constrictive working life is bound to have detrimental effects in the long term—”

A yell and a strained laughter make Akashi pause and divert his attention to the small yard beside the parking lot, where a furious Midorima Shintarou is performing a half-crouched chase behind a fluffy ball of fur zigzagging in the freshly cut grass. A wheezing Takao with tears in his eyes staggers behind him, offering unconvincing apologies every time another death threat is sent his way. His hand almost catches the squirrel by chance, but it’s too late as the tiny creature jumps on the trunk at the speed of light and disappears into the green foliage carrying a bundle of keys with it.

When he turns back, Akashi looks over with the most plain, unreadable face. A moment of silence passes before he unlocks the door to his chromed Mazda and sets his belongings inside.

“Today was a quiet day,” Akashi declares calmly, “all things considered.”

 

(“TAKAO…” Midorima fumes, heedless of the twigs and leaves sticking to his ruffled hair while Aida Riko takes charge of the office and Takao has long cowered in someone else’s cubicle. The tanuki statue is held morbidly between tapered fingers, as if Midorima is planning to use exactly that as murder weapon. “By all gods, I _swear_ I will—”)

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Episode 1: Kuroko Tetsuya**


End file.
